


The Thunder Rolls

by protectoroffaeries



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Betrayal, Cheating, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Hot Chocolate, Inspired by Music, Inspired by The Thunder Rolls by Garth Brooks, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Storms, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 10:25:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10762356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protectoroffaeries/pseuds/protectoroffaeries
Summary: Fran knows.





	The Thunder Rolls

There's a storm brewing outside the night she decides to confront him. Alex has always worked weird hours, sometimes for days on end, because the dumb bastard in insistent on working himself into the ground. She doesn't think that's necessarily a bad thing; maybe one of these days he'll do them all a favor and drop dead from it. Except that'd break Papa and Eliza's hearts. But then, Alex is going to do that anyway.

Fran is standing in the kitchen, stirring her hot chocolate, when Alex stumbles in the front door at half past midnight. He looks like a drowned rat, what with the rain plastering his hair and clothes to his body. He startles when he realizes she's there. Watching him. 

“Frances,” he says, “shit, you scared me. What are you doing up?”

“We need to talk,” Fran tells him. She motions for him to come and stand next to her, by the kitchen sink. His eyebrows scrunch together like they always do when he's trying to piece something together. Fran doesn't know if he'll figure out what she has to say before she says it. Doesn't matter. It still needs to be said.

The first flashes of lightning streak across the sky as Alex sets his bag down and toes off his shoes. He loosens his tie and takes off his coat, too, before joining her in the kitchen. It's alright. She can wait.

Fran takes a sip of her hot chocolate; it burns her tongue. She barely feels it.

“What do we need to talk about?” Alex asks. He doesn't come and stand with her. He opens the fridge instead. Pulls out the milk jug. He likes to eat cereal late at night for some reason. They’ve found empty cereal boxes in the trash when they come down for breakfast on more than occasion.

“Maria Reynolds,” Fran says, and Alex drops the milk jug. It cracks on impact, and milk leaks out onto the tile floor. She feels a little bad; Pip cleaned the floor like six hours ago, and now it's all sticky again. She doesn't expect Alex to clean it up properly, and she doubts she'll be in a charitable enough mood to do it herself when they're done talking.

Alex swears under his breath and scrambles for the paper towels. He uses them to sop up the mess on the floor, and then he grabs a couple glasses from the cupboard and pours the remaining milk from the jug into them.

Fran makes no move to help him. Another sip of hot chocolate. Another burn on her tongue.

“Why do you want to talk about Maria?” Alex says when he's done cleaning up. He's over the shock. He's collected himself. But surely he knows nothing he can say will change what she knows.

Alex goes into the pantry and grabs the Rice Krispies off the shelf. They're his favorite. They're Ange's favorite, too. Fran's sister is too much like her father. She makes a mental note to offer Ange Frosted Flakes in the morning, like that'll change anything.

Maria Reynolds is one of Alex's clients. She came to him looking for help getting out of a nasty marriage. From what Alex has mentioned about her case, it sounds like she's had a rough five years being married to an abusive prick. Fran hopes Alex can do more than get her out of the marriage; frankly, she'd like to hear that James Reynolds is locked up tightly to rot away for at least a few years. But that doesn't excuse either of them.

Thunder rumbles overhead. Alex pours his cereal into a bowl, and then he pours the milk over it. When the thunder dies down, Fran can hear them  _ snap, crackle,  _ and _ pop. _

“You're sleeping with her,” Fran says evenly.

Alex freezes.

“You're cheating on your husband  _ and  _ the mother of your children with a woman ten years younger than you,” she continues when he says nothing. A hard edge creeps into her voice when she reiterates,  “You're cheating on  _ my  _ father.”

Alex doesn't deny it. “How did you know?”

“Martha Jefferson texted me. Sent me some pretty fucking scandalous pictures. Probably shouldn't fuck around in your office, by the way.” They're all fucking lucky Martha isn't her father; Thomas Jefferson would spread news of Alex's affair like a goddamn wildfire.

Thunder crashes outside, a louder and closer boom that echoes and rattles the house with the winds that accompanies it. Lightning streaks the sky yellow just seconds later, bathes the world in momentary light.

Fran takes another sip of her hot chocolate. It's cooler now. Or maybe she's just burning hotter than her drink now. The anger is bubbling beneath her skin, but she's trying to keep it under wraps. Doesn't want to start screaming. Doesn't want to wake her family.

“Frances,” Alex says, and then he stops and sighs. “Are you going to tell John and Eliza?”

“No,” Fran says. “But you are.”

Alex looks down at his cereal. Fucking coward. “I can't.”

“You can and you will,” she says, “and you'll give Maria Reynolds’ case to Aaron Burr or some other lawyer you know - no, I don't give a fuck about how much time you've put into it,” she adds when Alex has the fucking nerve to open his mouth and try to protest.

Fran has never liked Alex that much. When she was younger, it was because he was her papa's husband, and she feared that would make him a replacement for her late mother. As she grew up, she started to dislike him for other reasons, namely his arrogance and his absence. Now she can barely fucking stand to look at him.

There are two - not one, but  _ two -  _ wonderful people fast asleep upstairs that he made commitments to. That would let him put his dick in them, that would love to fuck or be fucked by him. And honestly, if he said he wanted to see  _ another  _ person, both of them probably would've been okay with it. But, no. No, Alexander Hamilton, whose urges are more important than anyone's feelings, had to go and have a fucking affair like the goddamn drama queen that he is.

The wind howls to accompany the  _ pitter-patter  _ of rain against the windows.

Fran takes a gulp of her hot chocolate this time. She should've spiked it with something, but she's only sixteen, and she didn't want to risk giving Alex any leverage against her.

“They'll hate me,” Alex says after a moment.

“Good.” But they won't. Alex is the love of both their lives. Fran wouldn't be surprised if they forgive him sooner rather than later.

Alex winces at that single, harsh word, though, and that really is  _ good.  _ He deserves some pain for this. Hell, he deserves to  _ burn _ for this.

“You hate me,” Alex says softly, and if Fran didn't know better, she would say he sounds just as upset about that as he does about being hated by Papa and Eliza. “You'll never forgive me, will you, Fran?”

“You're right,” she says. She turns away from him to face the window head on. It’s raining hard out there.“You didn't just cheat on  _ them, _ you know. You cheated on this whole family. You've been lying to all of us, avoiding us, missing your kids’ games and plays and other shit. AJ cried, full-on  _ bawled,  _ when you didn't show up to his play last week, and you were probably balls-deep in your goddamn client at the time.”

Alex doesn't say anything.  _ Fucking coward. _

“Papa hasn't had time to paint in a month, did you know? Eliza thinks she's going to get laid off, did you know? Pip's in love, did you know?”

“No,” Alex croaks, to all of it. He knew nothing. Too busy with Maria Reynolds to notice. “What's her name? The girl Pip is in love with?”

“Jessica. She's a year older than him,” Fran finds herself answering.

Alex tries to laugh. It falls flat. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Fran asks. She's almost out of hot chocolate. The storm isn't letting up outside; it'll probably last well into the morning and possibly into the afternoon. No matter. They've needed some rain around here for awhile.

“You in love with anyone?”

The answer is  _ yes,  _ but Alex has no right to ask that, let alone know the answer. “Are you?”

Alex's silence says everything.

Lightning flashes, thunder rolls, and Fran finishes her hot chocolate. By the time she turns around, Alex is gone. She doesn't know if he went upstairs or if he left the house; she'll admit she wasn't paying much attention. She heard all she needed to hear, anyway. Or rather, she didn't. But silence speaks volumes.

The storm lasts through the next day. It's dry, painfully so, until a week later, when Alex confesses his affair to Papa and Eliza. 


End file.
